


Trust

by Fire_Sign



Series: Phrack Fucking Fridays [7]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9531572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: “Tell me your dreams, Jack,” she whispered against his lips.A smutty drabble for PFF





	

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh, there _might_ (emphasis on might) be a really smutty PFF fic forthcoming, but until then there's this?

“Tell me your dreams, Jack,” she whispered against his lips.

“Well,” he said, “there was the one about three clowns and a unicycle…”

Her laughter was deep and throaty, her fingernails sharp as she raked her hands through his hair and pulled him in.

“Tell. Me. Your. Dreams.”

He wondered if she wanted a list, all the places and ways he’s dreamt of their mutual undoing, if the variety would surprise her. (He wanted to surprise her, to make her look at him in pleased wonder and perhaps just slightly scandalised.)

He was still contemplating it when she moved her lips to his jawline, licking and nipping her way along its length. She was in his lap, pressing his thighs between her own, her naked body flush against his clothed one.

“Your dreams,” she demanded once more.

He ran a hand up her spine, felt her shiver. Had her hair ever been this black, her eyes this blue, her lips this red?

“I want to please you,” he rasped.

“You do, my love.”

His jacket and waistcoat were gone.

“I want to make love to you.”

“You can,” she promised, grasping his cock and guiding him inside.

She was so warm, so welcoming as she slowly undulated, her languid movements below and her desperate shedding of his shirt above a study in contradictions; he dropped his head back, eyes closed, and felt her mouth on his nipple. The groan she ripped from him was so laced with need it was almost foreign to him, but all she did was laugh and do it again.

“I want you to love me,” he confessed.

Her mouth was at his ear, hot and wet and incredible.

“I do.”

He grasped her hands and held them to his chest, meeting her eyes.

“That’s not in your power,” he said.

“No?” she asked, smile coy.

“Only she can,” he said, “even in my dreams.”

She pouted charmingly. “You are far too self-aware, Jack.”

“One of my many flaws.”

She began to move again, driving him to the precipice--of climax, of madness, of pleasure so immense he did not have the words for it. Suckling at his throat, she growled in fierce contentment as she held him there for long, impossible seconds.

“Just trust,” she whispered against his skin, the words vibrating in his chest.

He let go.

  
  


Jack woke, and in the dim light he could just make out the bedside table where the evening’s book lay. Halfway through a page was bookmarked with an envelope containing his letter explaining all the reasons he could not go after her, and the telegram that arrived the same day he’d intended to post it. TRUST is all it said. It was all he’d needed it to say.

Certain the papers were still there, he smiled and allowed the rocking of the ship to lull him back to sleep.


End file.
